


Retrograde

by kittleimp



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Discrimination, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Slurs, basically anything that is a given with with this show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4943515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittleimp/pseuds/kittleimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second rising has begun in a way that nobody expected and both Simon and Kieren are caught up in a whirlwind of activity. As annoying as it is to deal with nagging parents, a busy work schedule, and the complexities of coming back to life, Kieren is more than happy to have things returning to some form of "normal." </p><p>Just when things seem to be going better than ever, the reappearance of an old friend leaves Kieren reeling. As he struggles to come to terms with the sudden change in his life, he finds himself hopelessly lost in the place he calls home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ignore Everybody Else

**Author's Note:**

> Introducing the reason why I have not updated any other fics in months! This is my entry for the In The Flesh Big Bang, minus about 2,500 words. This has been a true adventure and while it was wonderful to see this come together, I'm relieved that it is finally done! The title and chapter titles are based off of [Retrograde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6p6PcFFUm5I) by James Blake, which I highly suggest listening to.
> 
> I would not have been able to do this without [Soph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers/pseuds/MapsWindsor), my amazing beta and line buddy. She has gone through every step of this with me and has supported me the entire way. Cheers for Soph!
> 
> The artist who did two beautiful pieces for this piece is [Saganu](http://saganu.tumblr.com/)! Please check their blog out!

_“Who am I?”_

_The words form in his mind, but they don’t make it to his lips. There is a disconnect between the two that he cannot make sense of. No matter how loud he thinks the words, he cannot force them into sound. Some quiet, detached part of himself notes that he should probably panic about this fact, but there is no fear yet. Before he can contemplate the answer to his first question, a second one floats into his head._

_“ **Where** am I?”_

_That question takes more investigating to answer. He opens his eyes to review his surroundings. Then he blinks. Twice. All around him, he sees nothing. Not an empty room, even, just the pure darkness of absolute **nothing.**_

_He brings a hand from its resting place on his stomach and holds it over his face. Panic bubbles up in his throat. This is wrong, he should see it by now, but there isn’t even an outline. He’s gone blind. That must be it. His breath stutters. Is he actually breathing at all?_

_Before the panic can overtake him, he closes his eyes. At least he doesn’t feel the need to see something if they’re closed._

_Without his sight, he has to focus on his other senses to figure out where he is. The floor underneath him is hard and there is no cushioning to it, so he can’t be in a bed. When he tries to move his hands outward, he finds that there are walls on either side of him. His fingers drag over the rough material slowly. The feeling is too dull and distant for him to learn anything more about the material._

_Finally, he feels a corner behind his shoulder where walls are meeting. There is yet another over him, serving as a low ceiling to what seems to be a small room. Walls are closing in on every side. Panic creeps up his throat again._

_The rest of his senses are already working to make sense of the nightmare. Everything around him is silent, so silent that he almost writes it away as another failing sense, but the more he strains to hear, the more he realizes that he can. His breaths are stunningly loud in the small space. Against the walls of his prison, his fingers make a dull scraping noise._

_An acidic taste is spread throughout his mouth. Distantly, he recalls a time in his rebellious preteen years where he refused to brush his teeth for a week. By the time he finally gave in, he was nearly gagging at the taste. This is even worse._

_It is during this jumbled, blurry memory that the smell hits him. He is overcome by a heavy, earthy scent._

_Everything comes crashing together to create a broader picture. There is only one reason for him to be trapped in a small, dark box smelling of earth and pounding with silence. The screams racketing through his skull still don’t make it to his lips, but he pounds his fists against the rough material over him._

_A coffin, it’s the top of his **coffin** and he is **buried** and he is going to **die-**_

Kieren jerks awake with a gasp and throws his hands out in front of him. They touch nothing but empty air. There is no hard board against his back, just a soft bed. His blankets are not rough and solid, there is nothing in this waking reality like the recurring nightmare he can’t seem to escape.

He pulls in a slow breath and runs his hands over his face. Dreams of waking up underground are par for the course, they have been for years, but lately their setting has changed just enough to renew the terror.

Kieren’s coffin had been lined with silky fabric. He can remember in grotesque detail how he ran a hand over the top and registered the lack of sensation in his fingers. Still, he was able to figure out what it should have felt like. It helped him realize exactly where he was.

This new coffin is unpadded and rough, just like the one Rick was buried in far too long ago.

With a tired sigh, Kieren reaches for the blanket that he kicked off in his thrashing and pulls it up around himself. He reaches for the pillow next to him once he is bundled again. Hoping for a bit of comfort, he buries his nose in it and inhales deeply. The familiar scent of cheap soap and cologne pulls his lips into a small smile. Simon’s pillow always manages to calm him down, though he prefers the man himself when possible.

In their short time together, Kieren has found himself falling heavily for the older man. It is hard to believe that not long ago, they were nothing more than strangers with a mutual friend and vastly different views. He could never have imagined what they would turn into. One desperate kiss, brought about by fear, frustration, and a curious feeling Kieren hadn’t been able to name, transformed both of their lives forever.

As the nightmare fades away, Kieren keeps his nose pressed to the fabric of the pillow. He chases the last of the lingering fear from his mind with memories of the mornings spent in this bed. Sometimes Simon will be laying on his back with a single arm wrapped around Kieren’s waist to hold him close, but he has grown more affectionate over the more recent months.

The tactile affection isn’t limited to the bedroom, much to Kieren’s quiet delight. While they’re out and about, Simon will thread their fingers together and walk so close that their shoulders are brushing. Farewells are given with short kisses. Simon seems to love wrapping his arms around Kieren from behind, even when there is no reason. It is everything that he has always wanted, but never had.

Slowly, Kieren draws himself out of his memories and sits up to cast a confused look around the room. The bed, Simon’s bed, is empty on one side. Simon is a notoriously early riser, but the sunlight hasn’t even started to peek through the blinds. Kieren can only faintly see the outline of Simon’s medication case on the dresser.

If the neurotriptyline gun is on top of the dresser, then he hasn’t taken it yet. Simon sets the case on the dresser before bed, then takes his shot when he wakes up and puts the case back in a drawer. That way there are no missed doses and he never accidentally doubles up. If he hasn’t put the case in the drawer yet, he hasn’t taken his dose. If he hasn’t taken his dose, then...

As if on cue, Kieren hears the sound of retching from the bathroom. He climbs off of the bed quickly, stumbling down the hall on stiff legs and coming to a stop in the door of the bathroom. He flicks the light on to reveal the scene before him.

Simon is kneeling on the floor, still in his pajamas, with his hands braced on the edge of the toilet bowl. Another cough brings up more black bile, which splatters across the white porcelain like ink. Kieren settles onto his knees next to his boyfriend and rests a hand just under his injection hole.

After Simon spits the last of the bile into the toilet, Kieren stands up and fills the glass by the sink with water. Simon takes it with a shaky smile and rinses his mouth with it, then spits it into the toilet as well before flushing everything away.

They stand together and walk through the dark hallway in tired silence. The bed doesn’t make a noise as Simon climbs onto it, nor does it creak as Kieren settles next to him and pulls the blanket up over them both.

“What happened?” Kieren asks, his voice only a touch above a whisper. There is nobody else in the house to disturb, but speaking any louder seems odd in the early morning darkness.

“I woke up feeling thirsty, so I went to get a glass of water,” Simon answers huskily.

Kieren doesn’t reply. Instead, he rolls onto his side and rests a thin arm over Simon’s chest. He still can’t feel the warmth of the sheets or the softness of his boyfriend’s skin, but the rise and fall that comes with Simon’s instinctive breaths is as comforting to him as his weight is to the man beneath him. In moments like this, that is what they give each other. The memories of old comforts.

This is the second time Kieren has woken up to an empty bed and found the older man spitting out black bile in the bathroom. He has done it four times himself. The first time, Kieren was so shocked that dropped one of their glasses onto his foot, resulting in an early morning trip to the clinic for stitches. The nurse assured him that trying to eat and drink is all part of the process.

Privately, Kieren wonders about the “process” everyone likes to talk about.

His shaking hands come and go; they have since Amy’s funeral months before. His sister noticed the tremors first. She didn’t reach for her gun; she hadn’t touched it since she locked it away at her therapist’s suggestion. All she did was ask him what was wrong. He didn’t know. The two of them held each other close and, out of habit, prayed to a god they no longer believed in.

The question of the tremors was answered on the news a week later. When reporters started catching wind of the strange shift in the PDS masses, they began using the phrase “warming up.” What the living don’t grasp is that it is so much more. They can’t possibly understand the sheer _terror_ of watching your body do something that is not and has never been natural.

On top of that, nobody knows how warming up works. What should come first, the blood or the beating heart? When will they begin to need the breaths they have been taking instinctively for years? How should a body come alive again? Should it at all?

“Stop thinking about it, Kieren,” Simon says, startling Kieren out of his thoughts. “You should try to get a few more hours of sleep.”

Then there’s Simon, his stupid ex-extremist boyfriend, keeping him calm and grounded through all of the confusion and terror. Kieren spends most nights in the bungalow with his back pressed against Simon’s chest. If it were up to him, he would never leave that spot.

“When are you heading out?” Kieren asks quietly.

“Around seven,” Simon replies. “I’m meeting a new group at the cemetery, then bringing them back here to train them in the administration portion. It’s the same thing I did earlier this week, but it beats putting up fences for Give Back.”

Kieren hums in agreement. When PDS sufferers started coming back to life, the Give Back Scheme was put on hold immediately. Legislation was passed within weeks to cancel it entirely and lift the travel bans.

The speedy turnaround had riots rising in the streets, but the line between the living and the undead was too blurred for the program to continue. Those who already had beating hearts refused to put up with the glorified slavery, and those who remained bloodless were getting too restless to control.

“I’ll go with you again. Wake me up at half six,” Kieren mumbles into the pillow and allows his eyelids to droop closed once more.


	2. Show Me Why You're Strong

When Kieren opens his eyes again, the first thing he sees is Simon’s small, gentle smile in front of his face. Simon is already half dressed, but his shirt is draped over the foot of the bed. Apparently he took a break to crouch down and bring his sleeping boyfriend back to the waking world.

“Time to get up, Kier,” Simon greets him in a quiet voice. “You have to get out of bed.”

“For this view? I think I can manage it,” Kieren says with a smirk, shaking off his drowsiness and giving Simon’s bare chest a slow look-over.

Simon shakes his head in amusement, “Kieren, we have to go meet the new group. We can’t get distracted.”

“You’re the one who left your shirt off,” Kieren reasons with a grin.

With stiff joints, Kieren pushes himself up off the bed and sets his feet on the floor that he still can’t feel. He wiggles his toes in the carpet and imagines that it must feel worn, perhaps slightly scratchy, but probably not itchy. Those words still have familiar meanings. Someday he’ll be able to refresh the memories.

Their morning routine, when not interrupted by bouts of forgetfulness and black bile, consists of a lazy kiss and a single shot. After that, Kieren unpacks their first aid kit on the bed and pulls out a different set of supplies.

Cleaning Simon’s back takes patience and cautious movements, but they have already decided to sacrifice steady hands for familiar ones. The only time that Kieren suggested having someone else - perhaps Shirley Wilson - clean his wound, Simon had barely been able to choke back his panic.

With a fresh set of bandages on Simon’s back and clothes shrugged over their pale skin, the pair head out into the streets of Roarton.

“Where is this group from?” Kieren asks as they walk together toward the old cemetery.

“Most of them are from London,” Simon replies, threading his fingers between Kieren’s. “There are more of them than usual. One of them mentioned something about starting a city-wide group.”

“A group like your ULA?” a shrill voice pipes up behind them.

Kieren and Simon turn quickly, startled by the sudden appearance of a third person. Ironically, the woman who is trailing them is human, but bears as much resemblance to a corpse as any PDS sufferer. Her thin hair, white with only a few faded streaks of blonde, is pulled back to show off her thin, bony face. Abigail Lamb narrows her sunken eyes at them, but Simon is already pulling Kieren along the pavement away from her.

“I know you’re planning something, you vile pigs! Homosexuals and rotters! What has the world come to?” she shouts venomously after them.

Unfortunately, this display of aggression is nothing new. The Parish Council has had an even closer eye on every PDS sufferer in town since the Give Back program was cancelled. To make matters worse, both the break in at the medical center and Kieren’s episode with Blue Oblivion are still under investigation. It’s a wonder they aren’t under house arrest.

With Mrs. Lamb’s glare burning into their backs, Kieren and Simon step through the entrance of the old cemetery. Watching the change in Simon as they approach the waiting group never gets old for Kieren. His back straightens and his dark eyebrows lift with a welcoming smile designed to comfort, or perhaps to manipulate. The ULA trained him well. When they step up to the strangers, Simon releases Kieren’s hand and reaches out to shake their guests’ hands instead.

“My name is Simon Monroe. We spoke on the phone,” he greets the group of strangers in the deep, confident voice that Kieren has come to enjoy.

As the strangers introduce themselves, Kieren makes mental notes on each one. Christopher is the black man with a wide smile. He has an air of kindness that makes him immediately approachable. Bethany has long, dark hair that flows in waves around her thin, pale face. Something about the set of her mouth and the arch of her eyebrows is intimidating, but Kieren does his best to push the uneasy feeling aside and forces a smile in her direction.

Two girls, who appear to be sisters, are next. Paige, who has her bleached blonde hair cut to her chin, appears to be the older of the two, but the younger girl is far more confident. Her darker blonde hair is pulled into a tight ponytail and she introduces herself as Mia with firm handshake. Kieren notices familiar scars peeking out from under the collar of Paige’s shirt. They begin at her shoulders and no doubt meet in the center of her chest. Many PDS sufferers, even those who have already warmed up, bear the same autopsy scars.

The last two are both men. Charles is easily the shortest one there, but has the muscle to make up for his size. In contrast, Ethan is even taller than Simon with a lanky build and a crooked smile. Both bear burn scars on their faces and arms. Kieren is struck by the realization that they likely died together in their first life. It’s wonderful to see that they have a second chance.

 _Christopher. Bethany. Paige. Mia. Charles. Ethan._ Kieren repeats the names in his mind, trying to get them to stick. A childhood in a small town didn’t give him many skills when it comes to remembering strangers, but helping Simon train these new groups has forced him to learn.

“I’m sure you all remember the false alarm of an actual second rising a few months ago,” Simon begins once the introductions are over, and there are grim nods from around the group in response.

“Do you know if the man survived?” Paige - _no, that one is Mia_ \- asks quietly.

“He did not,” Simon replies, his smile falling. “They didn’t realize until they had already fired that he wasn’t entirely rabid. Nobody knew that warming up was going to affect the risen who had already been killed, so when that woman saw someone climbing out of a grave, she responded automatically.”

Kieren has vivid memories of watching the news story in the living room of the bungalow with an enraged Simon. It took a long conversation, which was occasionally more of a shouting match, before Simon would admit that the woman had been right to fire her gun. All she was doing was defending her children. She had no way of knowing that the man stumbling toward her was only looking for help.

“We’re trying to avoid a similar situation,” Simon explains to the group now. “If we keep guard on the cemeteries and graveyards, then the living don’t worry as much and don’t feel the need to use violence to protect themselves.”

“It also makes it easier to help the re-risen,” Kieren volunteers steadily.

Simon turns to Kieren with a smile that immediately softens. He hasn’t aimed the painted-on smile he learned as the Prophet’s disciple at his boyfriend since their first kiss. Resting his hand on Kieren’s shoulder, he turns back to the six visitors.

“This is my boyfriend, Kieren. He’s going to be walking you through the first stage of the process,” Simon says, and steps back.

Kieren steps forward with a nod in response and slips into a familiar role of his own. He is no activist, and Simon does enough preaching for both of them anyway. What Kieren doesn’t mind, much to his surprise, is organizing and directing the groups of volunteers in Simon’s place. This speech has become so familiar to him that he could recite it in his sleep.

“Hi everyone,” Kieren greets them. “I’m Simon’s right hand here in Roarton. While he’s off making sure everyone is taken care of out in the field, I organize the volunteers to keep a constant watch on the graves. All of the re-risen, as we’ve been calling them, rise in a half-rabid panic. I’m sure you can imagine how confusing it would be.”

That brings a few nods and sympathetic noises, which Kieren takes as positive. At least it proves that they’re listening.

“We have enough volunteers to have four people on each shift, but you shouldn’t have any less than three,” he says, pointing to the four volunteers wandering near the back of the cemetery. “If they see someone trying to break through the surface, they call the others over. Two or three people restrain them while the the other gives them a dose of neurotriptyline.”

“Why do they need neurotriptyine?” the tall one, Eric... no, Ethan asks.

“We all need to keep taking our neurotriptyline until our hearts are beating again. If we don’t, we’ll go rabid,” Kieren explains. “After they’re medicated, one of the four escorts them to the bungalow, which serves as a safe house.”

“What happens after they’re brought there?” Bethany asks, pushing her dark away from her face.

“That’s where I come in,” Simon says, drawing their attention. “I explain what has happened, find somewhere for them to stay while they got on their feet, and help them move forward with their new life. Our goal is get everyone living a normal life as quickly as possible.”

“We offer the same help to other PDS sufferers as well, both current and former. As long as we have enough resources, we’ll try to help anyone who needs it,” Kieren adds.

“That leads us to a more administrative side of things, so we should head back to the bungalow now,” Simon says.

Outwardly, Simon maintains his calm, friendly mask as he guides the group toward the gate, but Kieren catches the panic in his eyes when he notices the approaching figure. Zoe is walking toward them, flanked by Brian and one of the other ULA followers. Kieren takes a deep breath and prays for patience.

“What are you doing out here, Simon?” she asks with a venomous tone.

“Lay off, Zoe,” Kieren sighs in exasperation.

“He’s a traitor!” she snaps, narrowing her eyes at Kieren. “Simon ignored direct orders from the Prophet and he must pay for his betrayal!”

Kieren rolls his eyes, “You’ve been on about this for months. What are you going to do, annoy him to death?”

Zoe splutters and Simon leads the group on before she can find her words again. The ULA has continued to be a nuisance, but that’s all they’ve been as of late. Without Simon’s strong leadership, Zoe is struggling to keep the group together, let alone to move forward toward a common goal. All that they’ve managed to do so far is throw a carton of eggs at the bungalow and paint bible verses on a few buildings around town.

“What was that about?” Christopher asks once they are out of Zoe’s earshot.

“You are all familiar with the ULA, yes?” Simon asks directly, glancing behind him to see the group nod. “I used to be a disciple of the Undead Prophet, but his demands grew too... extreme. They aren’t happy with me for my desertion.”

As expected, the reactions to Simon’s blunt admission are varied. Charles and Ethan glance to each other quickly, but neither seems surprised. Kieren wouldn’t be shocked to find out that they were once involved with the ULA themselves. In contrast, Bethany stares at Simon with an expression of complete horror. Christopher’s eyebrows are raised toward his hairline. Paige and Mia exchange a nervous look.

 _This is a London group,_ Kieren remembers suddenly. London has had more violent ULA attacks than anywhere else. Each and every one of this group is more than familiar with the extremists and none of them seem delighted to be working with one.

“Simon saved my life,” Kieren explains quickly, trying to ease their worries. “Instead of following orders, he took a bullet for me. The ULA is angry with him, but he hasn’t been in contact with them since that day.”

It isn’t for lack of effort on the ULA’s part, either. For weeks following the events in the graveyard, Simon received emails almost constantly from many friends and disciples. They ranged from furious threats to desperate pleading. Finally, Simon simply deleted his old email account.

From there, the attempts at communication were channeled entirely through Zoe and her gang. The eggs they threw were one method, the vandalism by spray paint was another. Simon paid no attention to any of it.

“When helping the re-risen figure out their future, it is important to warn them away from the ULA. They are a dangerous group and the stories of their misguided attempts at protests should be enough to scare them off,” Simon continues. “Also remember to emphasize that we are family to them. If they have nowhere to go, they should come to us.”

“Is she ULA?” Paige asks warily, nodding toward the girl running up the path to meet them. A bulky messenger bag is bouncing against her hip with each long stride, and her long, dark hair is pulled into a neat ponytail behind her.

Kieren grins as he watches her approach, “Not at all.”

Jem slows as she reaches the group and falls in step with them easily.

“Hey there, little bro,” she greets Kieren with a cheeky smile.


	3. Be The One You Loved

“This is Kieren’s sister, Jem,” Simon explains as Kieren pulls her into a welcoming hug. “We’ll be going over her responsibilities once we get to the bungalow.”

The group greets Jem with waves and nods, then ignores her in favor of following Simon. For now, she is just another name that has been tossed their way, so she doesn’t draw much attention from them. It makes it easy for her and Kieren to fall to the back of the group.

“Are you coming over for tea tonight?” Jem asks Kieren quietly, and rolls her eyes when she sees him hesitate. “It’s been a week since you’ve been home, Kier. You _have_ to come.”

“Alright, I will,” Kieren agrees, feeling the guilt wash over him.

It isn’t like his parents are deliberately unwelcoming, but the reality is that he is just far more comfortable with Simon. At the bungalow, he doesn’t have to sit at awkward family meals or avoid topics over the dinner table that will set off a new bout of drama. There are no memories from his first life in Simon’s room. Once he brought his sketchbook to Simon’s place, his old house stopped holding any appeal at all.

Still, it isn’t fair to abandon his family. Kieren hasn’t exactly been easy on them over the years, and he feels as if he owes them, even though he knows that is ridiculous. Especially Jem. If him visiting once a week makes them happy, he can swallow his discomfort for a few hours.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jem asks after a moment of silence.

Kieren shrugs, “No idea, actually. I haven’t asked Simon what the plan is yet. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinking it could be good for you to come to my therapist with me,” Jem suggests shyly. “I was supposed to ask earlier, but I just...”

“Of course I’ll come. Whatever I was going to do can wait,” Kieren responds immediately with a kind firmness in his tone.

Out of all his family, Kieren feels that he owes the most to Jem. Simon is helping him learn how to move on from the crippling guilt of what he did, both before and after he rose, but he can’t stop feeling bad for leaving his little sister on her own. There is nothing he can do to fix it now, but somehow, helping her get through her own rough patch feels like the next best thing.

Jem bumps against his shoulder with a small smile and he puts his arm around her. Small pieces of contact, each one counted as progress by them both, have become a common thing in their sibling relationship. They remain looped loosely around each other until they reach the bungalow with the rest of the group, Simon still leading the way.

Kieren doesn’t meddle in this part of the training. The housing program isn’t his, not really. Simon and Jem have worked hard to coordinate a good method of organization, so Kieren lets them show it off together. Jem’s new laptop, bought with all of the money she had saved up over the years, contains a meticulously maintained database of every house that is willing to take in the newly risen who have nowhere else to go.

Their information is displayed in a surprising amount of detail. Names, addresses, and photographs are at the top of each page, but below is even more extensive research than Kieren would have thought possible. Jem does a thorough background check on each household that applies for the program. Everything she finds out is listed, along with reports from the risen who have stayed there in the past.

The housing program, in Kieren’s opinion, is brilliant. They can’t manage to fit all of the homeless risen into the bungalow, so they use carefully selected volunteers to house the risen while they work to get back on their feet.

In just one month, they have a database of a couple hundred houses and countless more waiting for background checks. The constant flow of trainees looking to help from around the country is the only thing keeping Jem and Simon from getting overwhelmed. Already, four other cities have created fully operational groups helping to share the work, which doesn’t count the two that are still organizing themselves and the groups they have yet to train.

The placement program is already far bigger than any of them thought it would be.

Kieren watches from the doorway of the living room and smiles at the sight before him. Simon is seated on the brown couch, just as he always was during “church” with the ULA, but this time the group around him doesn’t have the same glazed look of wonder and awe. If anything, they seem excited to have a chance to be part of this new organization.

_Alliance._

That’s what they’re calling it. Jem mentioned it in passing, but one of the group took it to heart and now they can’t escape the name. It’s fitting enough. Both the living and dead are welcome and appreciated in the efforts. Simon’s charisma, which made him ideal for recruiting while he was with the ULA, has people of all sorts flocking to him. Things will doubtlessly get even bigger when the website is finished.

 _We’re doing well,_ Kieren thinks to himself proudly. He may have only been a contributing voice, but the pride he feels is not only for himself. Both Jem and Simon have worked extremely hard to create something good after Amy’s sacrifice. It is something she would have wanted.

Kieren’s smile fades a little. If only he could do the same for Rick.

Kieren follows Jem into the Walker house and steels himself for the inevitable commentary from his parents. It seems impossible at times, how many ways they come up with to communicate “we don’t like what you’re doing” without flat out saying it, but they haven’t run out yet. This time the guilt trip begins with a surprised noise from his mother the second he walks through the front door.

“Kieren! We weren’t sure you’d be joining us tonight!” she calls out with a bright smile as she sets the last plate on the table.

“I always come home for tea on Sunday, Mum,” he reminds her lightly, sitting down at his usual spot. “Haven’t missed one in ages.”

Not since he got back from Norfolk, anyway.

Jem takes her seat and flashes a sympathetic smile his way. She’s learned a lot about the lives of the risen during her time working with the various members of Alliance. It has helped her learn to see them as people, but it has also given her a deeper insight into just how hellish family life can be for her brother.

“Still, we wish you’d come home more often,” Sue says, her injured tone grating at Kieren’s nerves.

“He’s pretty much living with Simon now,” Jem points out blandly as Steve walks into the room and sits down at the table.

“We’ve noticed,” their father says, trying to keep the disapproval out of both his tone and smile. “All we’re saying is that you shouldn’t rush into things, Kier, and we miss having you around the house.”

Much to Kieren’s displeasure, conversations like this are a typical start to their family time. Whenever he returns home, his parents make it clear that they don’t want him living with Simon. He pulls his face into a tense smile and tries to ignore the prodding. Unfortunately, his father seems determined to bring it up tonight.

“I just think you’re being a bit rash,” he says while Sue finishes serving food and settles in at the table. “You and Simon have only been together for a few months. It’s a bit early to be moving in together, don’t you think?”

“Actually, I think living with Simon is pretty great,” Kieren replies neutrally, trying to steer the conversation to a happier direction. “It’s nice to live with someone who knows what I’m going through. We take care of each other.”

“That’s really great, bro,” Jem says with a grin. “You’re doing alright, yeah? No big problems with the whole ‘warming up’ thing yet?”

“Nah, not yet. Just normal stuff still. Shaking, forgetting not to eat, all the normal stuff. Still can’t feel yet or anything,” Kieren replies casually.

Having his sister taking an interest in the physical side of his condition is unusual to say the least, but she’s been asking more and more. Something her therapist suggested, no doubt. Getting help was a good decision. While she may not be facing any legal consequences, what happened with Henry was taking a toll on her. Kieren can tell from her honest curiosity and increasing relaxation around the undead that the therapy is having a positive effect.

“Shouldn’t you be at home with us when things get bad?” Sue asks him between bites.

Kieren stifles a sigh. “Actually, I’m probably better off with Simon. We know how to help each other.”

“We know how to help you,” Steve interrupts, setting his fork down. “Your mother and I have been doing our research. I think we could be very helpful.”

“That doesn’t mean you know what it’s like,” Kieren replies sharply. Keeping his temper is much easier when his parents are simply making needling remarks about his work or how often he is gone, but this time he has a feeling their comments have a more specific target.

“He has a point, dad,” Jem agrees quickly. “What’s wrong with him staying with Simon?”

“I’m just not sure I like this new group he has you two working with,” Steve admits firmly, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

_...and there it is._

“Alliance is nothing like the ULA!” Jem protests, but by the time she speaks, Kieren is already out of his chair.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks and rises out of his seat as well.

“My room,” Kieren calls over his shoulder. “I’m not in the mood to listen to this tonight.”

He can’t recall a time that he _has_ been in the mood to listen to his father’s nervous judgement. Try as he might, Simon can’t seem to completely win the trust of the Walker parents. Just when Kieren thought they might be on good terms, his parents found out about Alliance and had a fit. He shudders at the memory. That fight is one he doesn’t care to relive.

The shuddering doesn’t stop, which draws a shaky sigh from Kieren’s useless lungs. His cellphone, a basic smartphone linked to the family’s new plan, buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to check the message. As usual, it is from Simon.

**_Miss you._ **

Attached is a picture, one that has a crooked smile spreading across his dry lips. Cast in the yellow light of their bedroom lamps is the pale sheet on Kieren’s side of the bed. The blankets they sleep under are bunched up toward the edge of the photo, where Simon’s shoulder is barely visible. Kieren wishes Simon had sent a photo of himself, but he knows that his boyfriend isn’t half as confident as he pretends to be. Kieren types out his reply anyway.

**Don’t I get to see you?**

It doesn’t hurt to try.

**_This again?_ **

Kieren sends his silent appreciation to Jem for convincing his parents to get smartphones and snaps a quick picture of himself pouting. He sends it to Simon without any text and settles onto his his bed with a satisfied smile. Even if that doesn’t get the photo he is hoping for, it’ll make Simon frustrated that he can’t see his boyfriend until the next evening.

His smile only grows wider when he receives a picture in response. It is blurred just slightly, no doubt due to tremors, but Kieren can see Simon rolling his white eyes and scowling at the camera dramatically. Another message comes in seconds later.

**_Good enough?_ **

**Perfect.**


	4. It's The Starkness Of The Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features the second piece of art by the amazing [Saganu](http://saganu.tumblr.com/)!

It isn’t yet noon when Simon finds himself wandering toward the old cemetery. Ever since he woke up to find his bed empty, he has felt a throbbing ache in his joints that is driving him up the wall. It isn’t as if he can actually feel it, but there’s no avoiding the dull sensation of stiffness. That, coupled with the lack of a certain undead boy in his house, left him too restless to stay inside for another second.

When he arrives at the gates, he finds the next shift of volunteers huddled around the whiteboard that lists their job assignments. They’re all younger, most of them around Jem’s age. Simon recognizes a few of them from the party he put on back in the ULA days.

“Where’s Kieren?” one of the volunteers asks, eyeing Simon curiously as he joins the group. His eyes catch on her long, frizzy hair and a memory clicks into place. _One of Henry Lonsdale’s friends._ She doesn’t look quite the same without the pale skin.

“Off in the city with Jem. He’ll be back to work tomorrow,” Simon explains with a disarming smile. “Is there a problem?”

She nods, “One of the volunteers listed for today is stuck home. He said he’s been spitting up black bile on and off for hours.”

 _Ah, that would be an issue,_ Simon thinks to himself. They hand the chart over when he motions for it. Even if his other responsibilities usually keep him away from the volunteers, he still knows how to handle situations like this. All it takes is switching one name from the other cemetery, which is much smaller and won’t be as hard to patrol, to settle the situation.

“What’s up with her?” another one of the volunteers asks, drawing Simon’s attention up and away from the whiteboard.

His heart, however still it remains, seems to drop to his feet. A tall, broad woman is sprinting down the road with her tight curls bouncing wildly. He recognizes her as one of the volunteers stationed in the graveyard. Before she even finishes shouting for Kieren, Simon is rushing over to her.

As soon as Simon reaches her, she turns to run along with him. They don’t bother to speak as they race toward the graveyard. The issue is obvious; she wouldn’t have come for Kieren, especially not with that level of urgency, if someone wasn’t rising. Of _course_ it would be on the one day that Kieren is away.

When they reach the graveyard, Simon looks around frantically for the other volunteers. Their work may be important, but the fear always sits at the back of his mind that one day someone won’t get the dose to their fellow undead in time. Images of the gore he witnessed before his treatment flash in his mind. He cannot have their blood on his hands as well.

The other two volunteers, both unharmed, are crouched over an unmoving figure. The stunned man, now dosed with a shot of neurotriptyline, is returning from his rabid state. Already, the panic that they all feel upon rising is settling. His wrists are pinned down by the volunteers, but the risen man is no longer struggling. As Simon walks over to the group, he takes in the stranger’s appearance.

The most noticeable features he bears are the scars splitting the left side of his face. One rises from his eyebrow and splits into two branches, forming a “Y” with stitches holding it together. The other is larger, more ragged, and reaches from behind his ear to a point just before the corner of his mouth. Smaller tears split off of that scar, but only one is large enough to warrant stitches of its own. His pale skin only makes the scars stand out more.

Simon knows the feeling, the uncomfortable itch, of having someone stare only at the marks that have been left on you. Scars never tell the full story and they never represent a person as they truly are. Kieren is not defined by the ragged gashes on his wrists any more than Simon is defined by the ragged incision running along his spine. With that in mind, he files the scars away for later examination and looks beyond them.

The man’s hair is brown and cropped into an army-regulation cut that doesn’t look quite right on him, in the same way that Simon’s clean-shaven face doesn’t quite feel natural. While the man’s burial clothes look nice enough at first glance, the white dress shirt is scuffed with dirt and the light blue tie hasn’t been tightened at all. This poor man was probably just tossed into the coffin wearing whatever he had on. Even the final wound at the base of his skull, which Simon only notices when the man turns his head to look back at his own grave, has gone uncared for. It isn’t even closed with staples.

“What’s going on?” the man asks with an edge of panic in his voice.

As Simon crouches down next to the scared man, he glances over at the nameplate on the white cross marking the grave and does a double take.

_Rick Macy_

Simon knows that name well. The story Amy had told him reminded him of his own, in a way, and has stuck in his mind throughout the months. It began with Kieren’s best friend, the boy he loved so much, disappearing to the army without any warning. Simon had wondered why Rick skipped the goodbyes, but it was less because he couldn’t understand the reasons and more because there were far too many to choose from.

Hearing about Rick’s first death had been saddening, but it was no different than any of the other stories that he’d heard. A roadside bomb, Kieren’s devastation, the nightmare that the Walker family dealt with... it was a major part of the story, but barely had any effect on Simon. What truly horrified him was Rick’s second death.

Simon has dealt with trauma and terror, especially with the blood of his mother staining his hands, but to find the one you love dead? Not only dead, but murdered brutally, with his own father’s knife jutting out of his head. Amy described Kieren’s insistence that Rick be given a proper burial. It had started Roarton’s tradition of burying the undead they killed, in fact. Because of that, all of them have another chance to survive.

“Rick, you’re safe,” Simon says softly now, placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.

When Rick doesn’t react violently, Simon gives a small sigh of relief. The neurotriptyline has kicked in and Rick will be fully in control before long. Kieren will be beside himself when he finds out that he has missed his friend’s rising, but seeing him out of his grave again should be enough to lift his spirits beyond his initial disappointment. Simon’s mind slips to Amy’s empty room at the bungalow.

“Does he have family here that I should contact?” the woman who ran to find him asks.

“Not in Roarton. We’ll get his mother’s phone number later. Go put him in the system and mark him as housed,” Simon tells her. “He’ll be staying with me at the bungalow.”

The volunteer hurries off to follow directions and Simon returns his attention to Rick, who is slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. Before Simon can open his mouth to reassure him again, Rick speaks.

“Where’s Kieren?” he asks quietly, voice rough and hoarse.

“Safe,” Simon assures him. “He’s with his sister right now.”

“I want to see him,” Rick tells Simon firmly, but he doesn’t make a move to get up.

“You will. He’ll be home tonight and I know he’ll want to see you. I’ll have to do, for now.” Simon says with a small smile. “My name is Simon. I’m here to help you.”

That seems to be enough for Rick, who only nods tiredly in response. Simon stands up and offers his hand to the younger man, who takes it after a moment of hesitation. As expected, Rick slumps against Simon as soon as he is upright.

“You’ll figure out your motor skills in a few hours, but you’re still recovering,” Simon explains and adjusts his arm so that it stretches across Rick’s back.

“Where are we going?” Rick asks him as they begin to stumble through the graveyard.

“To my house. You’re going to be staying there for a bit. I’ve got a nice shower that you can use to wash the dirt off and some clothes that you can borrow.”

Rick nods again, too tired and busy focusing on walking to ask more questions. Simon guides him through the streets and wonders if he should call Kieren back early. Then again, Jem is just as important as Rick. He can’t take away from her time, especially when it is part of her attempt at improvement. Kieren will find out when he gets home.


	5. Suddenly I'm Hit

Kieren walks up the path to the bungalow, shoulders heavy with weariness. 

Going to therapy with Jem was important, but it was absolutely exhausting to go into the city. He can still feel the judgemental drag of strangers’ eyes over his bare face. Within minutes, he had found himself wishing that he had brought his contacts and cover-up, if only so he could avoid the disgusted glares.

Jem’s therapy was a relaxing break in comparison to the stress of travelling. They talked about her struggles with nightmares and the effect that seeing her brother without makeup has on her. It felt like she was tearing at his heart for the first ten minutes as she explained why she was so hesitant to treat him like a normal person for so long.

After that, she moved on to the more recent events. Working with Alliance has changed her opinions radically, but Kieren hadn’t realized exactly how different things were until that moment. They traded apologies at the end of the appointment, her for how she used to treat him, and him for how insensitive he had been to her struggles.

As glad as he is that he went with her, Kieren feels a rush of relief when his fingers wrap solidly around the familiar door handle. He unlocks the door quickly, and pushes it open. Immediately, he is hit with the scent of _home_. Home, and... cleaning products?

“Simon, I’m back!” he calls out, slipping his shoes off and setting them on the mat in the entryway.

Simon steps out of Amy’s room, which has Kieren’s eyebrows drawing together. Neither of them go into her room anymore. It isn’t because they can’t, or even that they feel they shouldn’t... there’s just no point.

“Kieren, come here,” Simon says softly, and ushers him into the front room with an urgency that borders on frantic.

“What’s going on?” Kieren asks nervously, keeping his voice down to match his boyfriend’s quiet tone. There’s nothing he can think of that should have Simon so nervous. His boyfriend struggles for a moment, trying to find the words for whatever is happening. Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh and meets Kieren’s eyes.

“Rick’s back. He’s in Amy’s old room.”

Kieren’s eyes widen and he takes a stumbling step back.

_Rick’s skin wasn’t any warmer than it was during the distant handshake they’d shared in the Legion, but it was smeared with some thick, black substance that Kieren couldn’t identify. It was half-dried, clumping and flaking in places. The largest concentration of it was around the knife. Bill’s hunting knife. Driven into Rick’s skull._

_Kieren’s broken cry had echoed in the small area. He pulled the knife out, as if that could save the boy who was slumped against the garage like a pile of trash, but it only let a trickle of the black liquid escape the wound. Rick was dead, and this time there was no miracle that could bring him back._

Simon doesn’t make a move to stop him as Kieren stumbles out of the room, rushing down the hallway before his feet can figure out what he is doing. When he reaches the doorway to Amy’s room, he jolts to a stop.

Rick is sitting on the bed wearing one of Simon’s t-shirts and a pair of jeans that must be borrowed as well. His face is still pale and the scars stand out in stark contrast, but there is no dirt or black blood caking his skin this time. That’s likely thanks to a shower, Kieren registers in the back of his mind, because Rick’s short hair is still damp.

None of that matters once Rick’s mouth curves into a delighted smile.

Kieren throws himself forward as Rick stands up. He wraps his arms around his friend so tightly that it would hurt if either of them could feel it, just like he should have when Rick came home before. Rick’s arms settle around him as well. One clamps down on his shoulder, but the other falls on the middle of his back. Both fist into the fabric of each other’s clothes to hold on just a little tighter.

“I’m here, Ren,” Rick whispers shakily.

Kieren lets out a strangled noise that turns into a sob on its way out of his throat and buries his face in Rick’s shoulder. He smells like dirt and the same cheap soap that Simon keeps in the shower, but underneath that is the unmistakable scent of _Rick_. It’s a smell that Kieren knows by heart from the countless stolen moments they shared in their first lives. Rick is whispering comforting words into his ear, but Kieren can’t concentrate hard enough to make any sense of them.

It feels like hours have passed when the two of them finally part. They remain close, with arms draped around each other and eyes drinking in everything that has changed since they last saw one another. Kieren raises his hand without thinking and brushes his fingertips over the place where the hunting knife had once jutted out of Rick’s skull. He pulls back quickly when Rick flinches, but his fingers linger long enough to feel the rough seam of the scar marring his otherwise smooth skin.

“Simon said you found me,” Rick says quietly, searching Kieren’s dry eyes for a sign of the trauma he’s sure that caused.

“Yeah, I did,” Kieren admits, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Are you alright?”

“I am now,” Rick replies with a smile. “I was pretty confused, but Simon helped me figure things out. Said that friend of yours, Amy, told him all about what happened.”

Kieren’s breath catches in his throat at the mention of his boyfriend, and he turns quickly to glance at the door. _No Simon._ That’s probably a good thing. It isn’t as if he and Rick are kissing passionately or anything, but Simon knows their history. There’s no saying how he would react to seeing their reunion. When Kieren turns back to Rick, he finds his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

“Ren, who is he to you?” Rick, asks and Kieren’s still heart plummets to his feet. His hesitation to answer must be obvious, because Rick continues in a rush. “He didn’t say anything, but he seems very fond of you and the two of you are living together and... It’s fine if you’re with him, I just want to know.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Kieren replies reluctantly, then launches into a frantic explanation. “But Rick, I thought I lost you for good and I-.”

“It’s fine, Ren,” Rick cuts in unevenly, resting a hand on Kieren’s shoulder.

“But-”

“Don’t,” Rick insists sincerely. “You thought I wasn’t coming back. I’m just happy you’re alive.”

His words are like a punch in Kieren’s gut. He forgets, sometimes, that he slit his wrists over Rick’s death. There are some things he couldn’t stand do for a second time, though, and bleeding out alone in a cave is one of them. Still, he can’t find the words to reply, so he searches quickly for something else to talk about.

“Simon told you everything?” Kieren asks, and receives a nod from Rick in response.

“Yeah, I think so. He answered all of my questions, even the ones that seemed hard for him to talk about.”

Rick pauses and glances around, scanning his eyes over on the old, faded decorations scattered about the room. Flowers, some pressed and others painted, tucked neatly into various corners of the room. Hung on walls, printed into the comforter, and left sitting on the desk. He may not have known Amy well before his second death, but she was one of Kieren’s best friends.

“Are you okay with me staying in her room?” Rick asks now, looking back to Kieren with a frown.

“Yeah, it’ll be better than having it sit here empty,” Kieren admits quietly.

Before either of them can speak again, Simon knocks softly on the open door. Both of them turn to him as he steps into the room. The intrusion isn’t upsetting, but having both of the men he has cared about in one room is strange in a way that Kieren hasn’t felt before.

“Rick, Dr. Russo wants to see you,” Simon says into the silence. “Are you feeling up to walking over?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies with a small smile.

“Alright. I’ve set out some shoes that should fit you in the hall.”

Rick flashes a Kieren a small smile and slips out of the room to try on the shoes, leaving the couple alone. Simon walks over and rests a hand on Kieren’s neck.

The motion, originally a strange one to Kieren, has become a comforting gesture in the past few months. Now it makes his stomach turn guiltily yet again, but he doesn’t pull away this time. It doesn’t matter. Simon notices his discomfort immediately and breaks the contact.

“How’re you doing?” Simon asks him, softly enough that Rick won’t hear.

“This is weird,” Kieren admits after a pause, glancing up at Simon.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before having him come here, but I-”

“Can we talk about it later?” Kieren interrupts, glancing toward the hallway anxiously. “I want to go with him to see Russo.”

“Of course,” Simon says gently, lips curving into a half-smile that makes Kieren’s heart ache.

“Thanks,” Kieren replies and mirrors Simon’s smile, then leans up give Simon a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kieren leaves Simon standing in the bedroom and walks out into the hall with a tightness growing in his chest. Simon may be his boyfriend, but he has a history with Rick that he can’t ignore. He is torn between the pull to figure out what that history means in his present, and joy that his best friend is back once again. Either way, some quiet time in the waiting room will be good for him.

Rick is crouched over on the couch, fumbling with the laces to Simon’s shoes, as Kieren re-enters the living room. They look like they fit well enough, but Rick still hasn’t recovered full command of his fingers. Kieren crouches down in front of him without asking and ties the laces quickly.

“You’ll get ahold of it soon enough,” he promises Rick, with a smile up at him.

“Thanks,” Rick replies brightly as he stands slowly to ease his aching joints.


	6. I'll Wait

Kieren shifts in the uncomfortable plastic chair and glances around the doctor’s office, trying to keep his mind blank while he waits for Rick. His eyes catch on familiar sights and he grimaces slightly. The cage in the corner that he and Simon had once cleaned, while not removed, now stands empty. Instead of the cruel woman they dealt with on that unfortunate day, the front desk is now home to a young male nurse who shows more interest in his magazine than throwing judgemental glances in Kieren’s direction.

Finally, Kieren runs out of things to look at in the plain white room and turns his mind to Rick’s reappearance with a sigh.

Most prevalently, he is elated to see Rick again, alive and free from his father’s cruel expectations. It is a gift Kieren wasn’t sure he’d get again, and he tries to focus on that feeling of happiness and ignore the other feelings behind it.

He fails. There are too many other conflicting emotions simmering underneath the joy to pretend that it is alone in his mind.

Concern that Rick is going to be hurt, become ill, or have so much trauma that he can’t recover as he should. However irrational it seems given how normal Rick was acting earlier, Kieren can’t stop himself from worrying about Rick’s well-being. There are too many things that could take his best friend away again.

Next, of course, is the unavoidable confusion about his feelings for Rick. No matter how much he reaches for it, expects it to rear it’s head at any moment, the romantic rush he used to feel so strongly around Rick is nowhere to be found. So where does that leave them?

Kieren knows where it leaves _him_ , at least: guilty. The guilt that Rick died standing up for him is almost overwhelming, especially when he can’t even find it in himself to love Rick like he used to.

More than anything, Kieren feels fear for what Rick’s return will mean for his relationship with Simon. The history he has with RIck can’t be ignored, even if Kieren’s feelings are conflicted, especially when they are all living under the same roof.

 _That’s easy to solve for now_ , he realizes with a rush of relief. At least for this first night, Kieren can just go back to his room at the Walker house. His parents will be happy to have him home again so soon and he will have some more time to think things through.

The door to Dr. Russo’s office opens and Kieren glances up sharply. Rick steps out with a few boxes in hand and a smile on his face.

His tan, painted-on face.

“Everything’s fine,” Rick reports cheerfully. “He said I don’t have anything to worry about, as far as he can tell.

Kieren nods, but his attention is stuck on the dark contacts in Rick’s eyes. They look... wrong. Indescribably, unavoidably wrong. He forces a smile.

“That’s great!” he says in a bland tone of forced jollity and turns to lead Rick back home.

As disconcerting as it is to see Rick wearing the makeup and contacts that used to be a near-requirement, Kieren doesn’t plan to say anything. That’s Simon’s thing, not his. Instead, Kieren fills Rick in on the events of the months since his second death. They chatter back and forth easily, exchanging questions and answers, as if they’d only been apart for a summer.

The amicable mood disappears the moment they walk back into the bungalow’s living room. Simon notices Rick’s makeup immediately and his eyebrows shoot up, but Kieren interrupts before Simon can make a comment.

“Simon, I need to talk to you,” he says sharply, motioning with a jerk of his head to the front room.

Obediently, Simon holds up a hand to signal that Rick should wait for them to return, and follows Kieren into the privacy of the other room. The moment they are alone, Simon’s face twists into an expression of concern, but Kieren can’t even begin to process it. He keeps his distance and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t be too harsh, alright?” Kieren warns quietly. “Rick’s dealt with a lot of shit and the last thing he needs is to be judged.”

Simon opens his mouth to reply, but pauses momentarily to rethink. His lips pull into that resigned half-smile that Kieren has come to love, the one that says that Simon has come to a realization that he isn’t sure what to do with. Only then does he speak.

“Alright,” Simon agrees simply, nodding and crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s not what has you acting all jumpy, though.”

Ever the observant one, his Simon. Kieren sighs deeply and decides that it’s better to just spit it out. Dancing around the topic is only going to make this harder.

“I’m going back to my house for the night.”

Simon’s eyebrows draw together in response to his announcement. The concern is painted over his features, but he waits patiently for Kieren to continue speaking.

“I’m just having a hard time with this. I’m happy he’s back, but it does kind of complicate things for me, doesn’t it?” Kieren points out, motioning toward where Rick is waiting for them.

“For us,” Simon corrects him steadily, and unfolds his arms. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I appreciate you trying to help, Simon, but you can’t figure this out for me,” Kieren replies curtly. “I need a night to figure things out on my own. I’ll be back around tomorrow morning for your shot.”

With a resigned sigh, Simon nods. Ever since their first meeting in the graveyard, Kieren’s willingness to stand for what he believes has been one of the many traits that Simon finds fascinating... even when those beliefs are flawed. This is no different than the opinions that Kieren used to hold about hiding behind makeup, and it won’t be changed any more easily than those. _Better to give him the time that he needs._

Instead of arguing, Simon simply opens his arms. Kieren steps into the hug and wraps his long, slender arms around Simon’s solid back, then rests his head on Simon’s shoulder. At the same, Simon pulls Kieren against him and enjoys the faint weight he can’t truly feel against his chest. They don’t move for a long, silent moment. Finally, Kieren pulls away from the gentle embrace.

“I’ll be back for your shot in the morning,” he reminds Simon again, before slipping out of the room.

It isn’t until the front door closes behind his boyfriend that Simon finally returns to the living room. Rick is sitting on the couch, but has pushed himself against the edge of it, as if he is afraid to take up too much space. Simon grabs one of his poetry books and eases into the chair opposite that he has long since claimed.

“Where’s Kieren?” Rick asks him within seconds.

“He went home for the night, but he’ll be back in the morning,” Simon explains. He glances up and his eyes lock on Rick’s painted face. He can’t help himself. “Why’d you put that on?”

“What are you talking about?” Rick asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

 _Shit_. Don’t be too harsh, that’s what Kieren had told him, and he’s already started asking uncomfortable questions. There is a way to salvage this situation without being too judgemental, there has to be. Slowly, Simon closes his book.

“Your makeup,” he clarifies, trying to keep his tone light. “Why did you decide to put it on?”

“Oh. I just like it better,” Rick replies, glancing down at his hands, where the paint has already started to flake.

“What do you mean?” Simon asks, because he can’t help pushing, he really can’t.

“I don’t like how I am without it. Why would I? It’s disgusting. _I’m_ disgusting,” Rick admits quietly, but the look in his eyes when he meets Simon’s is anything but weak. “Don’t you feel it too?”

 _Yes_.

“I used to feel that way, but I got tired of hiding myself. Putting makeup on won’t change what we are now. We’re just lucky to have a second chance at all,” Simon says, and slides effortlessly into the tone of an understanding preacher.

“What about what we were before the medication?” Rick asks defiantly.

“We have to learn to forgive ourselves for what happened while we were rabid,” Simon says, reciting old lessons that have been trained into him so thoroughly that he doesn’t even have to think about the words as they leave his mouth.

Rick leans forward and narrows his eyes, training his glare on Simon.

“When I rose, I was with half a dozen other soldiers. We wandered into a village and went from house to house, trying to get in and satisfy that _hunger_.”

Simon doesn’t react, but he already knows that the story is only going to get worse. It only ever goes downhill. His mother, Jem’s friend, so many others he’s heard; none of the stories end well.

“Most of the houses were barricaded too well for us to get at the living, but we managed to break into a few. A couple of the men who had died with me helped me push open a poorly blocked door. The house was full of children.”

Rick leans back on to the couch with a pained look in his eyes and anger set in his clenched jaw.

“Tell me, Simon, is that forgivable?”

“You weren’t in control of your actions,” Simon responds calmly, voice steady despite the inevitable revulsion he is feeling. “Would you do the same things now if you had the chance to stop yourself?”

“Then what about you?” Rick asks acidically, ignoring his question. “Have you forgiven yourself for murdering the people around _you_?”

Simon opens his mouth to reply, but the lie catches in his throat. Of course he hasn’t forgiven himself. Who could, when the blood on their hands belongs to their own mother? He’s at a loss for words. In nearly a year of helping others face their actions and forgive themselves, nobody has ever turned the question back on him. Satisfied with the silence resulting from his question, Rick presses his lips together.

“That’s what I thought.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over them as they both search for something to say, for a place to go from that heavy conversation. In that moment, it becomes apparent that they are almost complete strangers. The only thing they have in common is the boy that they both love. It takes several long minutes for Simon to finally rest his book on the table and look back over to Rick.

“The appointment went well, then?” he asks, brushing off the uneasy feeling that Rick’s questions brought.

Rick nods tiredly, accepting the topic change. Neither of them have the energy to face those demons tonight, and certainly not with a near-stranger.

“Yeah, everything is fine. He said that I should recover from my new wounds as I warm up. The neurotriptyline will help reconstruct the damaged parts of my brain. If it doesn’t heal properly I might need surgery, but that that’s a while down the road.”

His words are bland and clinical, but Simon catches the emotion lingering in his his expression. If it weren’t for Rick’s own father, Rick wouldn’t need his brain repaired. Those sort of events don’t come and go without leaving a considerable amount of pain behind. Simon knows from personal experience.

“That sounds promising,” Simon says anyway, trying to remain upbeat for both of their sakes.

“I guess so,” Rick agrees reluctantly, then a silence settles over them both again. After a moment, Rick clears his throat. “So Kieren won’t be back until tomorrow?” He asks, a slight note of worry in his voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Simon replies blandly, “Like I said, he’ll be back in the morning.” He doesn’t offer any other information.

“Okay, thanks,” Rick says and pushes himself up off of the couch with a heavy sigh. “I think I’m just going to head to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Alright, I’ll be around if you need anything,” Simon tells him quietly.

Rick gives a nod of acknowledgement and disappears quickly into Amy’s room.

 _No, it isn’t her room anymore_ , Simon reminds himself. It belongs to Rick now, for as long as he wants, even if it ends up meaning that Simon has to watch Kieren fall into Rick’s arms each night. He winces at the almost palpable pang that possibility causes in his still heart, and with a deep breath, he forces those thoughts out of his head. _No_. Kieren will make the choices that he is going to make, and nothing Simon does now will change that. There is no point in worrying about a pain that he hopes desperately will never come.


	7. You're On Your Own

Simon is still settled into the old chair in the living room, when he hears the telltale footsteps of Rick reemerging from the bedroom. The room has grown dark around him with the passing hours, but the lights scattered around the room have kept his book pages illuminated enough for him to read, so he hasn’t given it much notice. Now he glances over at the clock on the wall and finds that, much to his surprise, it is only minutes away from one in the morning.

Rick steps into the living room, scarred face once again unhidden by makeup. It is only now that Rick is standing in the same clothes from that day that Simon remembers he has nothing else to wear. His eyes, now white and piercing without the brown contacts he had worn earlier, show no emotion other than pure exhaustion. The empty, tired feeling emanating from his very bones is one that Simon is all too familiar with.

“Was it a nightmare?” Simon asks softly, breaking the silence after a moment.

Wordlessly, Rick nods and drops down onto the couch. He pulls his knees up against his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, all without looking at Simon. The closed-off position is one that Simon knows well. There are a few long minutes with only the noise of soft breathing between the two of them before Rick finally speaks.

“It was my dad,” he admits haltingly. “I was trying to find my way out of the graveyard and I found my dad. He pushed me back into my grave.”

The story is told just as much in the lack of detail as the words themselves. To anyone else, it would be a simple nightmare, but for someone who knows the unique terror of waking up buried in the ground, there is nothing more horrifying than yet another burial. With Rick’s father added to the mix, even Simon doesn’t have enough words to comfort Rick. He looks at him steadily instead, and they fall right back into another long silence.

 

“Do you know where my parents are?” Rick asks eventually, eyes trained on the blank television across from him. “Do they know where I am?”

“Your mum moved in with her sister after your funeral. We haven’t contacted her yet, but we can if you want,” Simon explains quietly.

“Maybe. What about my dad?”

“A lot happened after you died again, Rick,” Simon begins, but he pauses to find a better way to explain what happened. There isn’t really a good one. Finally, he gives up. “He’s dead. Not dead the way we are, just... gone for good.”

“He’s dead?” Rick echoes brokenly, turning slowly to look at Simon. “How?”

Simon nods sympathetically in confirmation, “I don’t know all of the details, but he was shot by one of your old neighbors.”

“Is it wrong?” Rick asks. Simon cocks his head at him quizzically. “He killed me and I’m sad that he’s dead. Isn’t that wrong?”

Simon takes a deep breath and steels himself for what he is going to say next.

“Rick, when I was... before I was treated, during the rising, I went back to my house,” he begins unsteadily. “I killed my mum, and-” he breaks off here for a moment, voice breaking on the words. He clears his throat and continues. 

“I couldn’t even remember it properly until months later. My dad threw me out of the house on the first night I was home with nothing but what he shoved into a bag. That’s how I found the ULA in the first place. I became part of the inner ring of a political extremist organization, all because I had no one else. If my dad hadn’t tossed me into the streets like that, I wouldn’t have done any of the things I did. If he hadn’t...” Simon trails off and swallows down the lump in his throat. “If he hadn’t thrown me out, Amy would still be alive.”

Rick is staring at Simon with the same horror and disbelief in his expression that everyone has after hearing his story. Each time he has told this story, however few times there have been, that look reflected back at him seems to haunt him for weeks. Thankfully, the understanding dawns quickly for Rick. This is the story of Simon’s horror, the one he can’t forgive. Slowly, Rick nods and glances down to his hands. Simon places one of his over them gently. When Rick looks up, their eyes meet.

“If I learned that my dad was dead, I would travel back to Ireland in a heartbeat.”

The honesty of Simon’s statement resonates in the silence between them. That truth is what has Rick slumping in his seat and nodding tiredly. Simon isn’t sure what the motion means, but then again, Rick might not be either. All that is important to know now is that they aren’t alone. Though he pulls his hand away from Rick’s, Simon remains close enough to provide at least the slightest bit of physical comfort in his nearness alone.

“I want to go visit his grave,” Rick announces hoarsely into the quiet of the room.

“We can do that tomorrow afternoon,” Simon assures him, nodding gently. “For now, I think you should try to get some rest. Your body needs the time to heal.”

“You have a point,” Rick agrees, standing up slowly and wincing at the stiffness in his joints. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Simon replies with a smile, and reaches down to pick up his book again.

“Simon?” Rick calls out just before he leaves the room, catching Simon’s attention once again. He is surprised to recognize that the tight, defensive look on Rick’s scarred face has softened to one bordering on concern, with a hint of pity. “You know that it’s okay, right? You don’t have to pretend to be okay with what you did to your mum. I know you’re not, so you don’t have to fake it.”

Each word hits Simon like a burning brick. If he had breath to breathe, it would have been punched out of his lungs at the reassurance. He stares after Rick blankly, even after the other man has given him an awkward smile and disappeared down the hallway to give sleep another try.

Nobody else, not even Julian, who used to be like an older brother to him, has told Simon so gently that it is _okay_ to be angry with himself. To hate himself, just like his father hates him. Rick’s words spin inside of Simon’s head throughout the night and he finds himself staring at the words of the poems, but he can’t focus enough to care about their meanings.

_You know that it’s okay, right?_

...is it really?

It isn’t until he opens his eyes to find Kieren shaking his shoulder that Simon realizes he fell asleep. His book is set carefully on the worn wooden table next to him, no doubt placed there by Kieren’s gentle hands, and he is slouched in the chair in a way that would likely have his back aching for days, if only he could feel it.

“Good morning,” Kieren greets him, a smile on the lips that Simon longs to kiss.

“Is it already?” he asks instead, smiling in return and stretching to loosen his cramped muscles. “Good morning, Kieren.”

“I let you sleep for a bit, but it’s time for your shot,” Kieren says apologetically, holding up the neurotriptyline gun.

The hand that is wrapped around the trigger is shaking almost violently. Usually the tremors cease after a few hard shakes, but this time they don’t disappear so easily. Both Simon and Kieren frown, but there is nothing that they can do to stop the movement. Reluctantly, Simon takes the gun from Kieren and reaches over his own head.

“Help me guide it,” Simon says, trying to find the hole with the tip of the gun. Kieren reaches out and pushes it with an unsteady hand, but he manages to guide it close enough that Simon slips it into the hole. Once it is in place, he tenses up and pulls the trigger.

The shots don’t get any more pleasant as time goes on, but Simon is grateful that the torturous flashbacks and occasional seizures have passed, at least for the most part. He lowers the medication gun and lets out the breath he had been holding.

“Did you sleep well?” Simon asks Kieren, trying to be as casual as possible after spending a night away from his boyfriend for the first time in weeks.

What Simon wants to ask is, How are you really? Have you thought about what it means, to have Rick back here? What does it mean for us? Reluctantly, he holds his tongue. He won’t rush Kieren.

“Yeah,” Kieren replies stiffly, avoiding any sort of elaboration, and steps back.

With a sigh, Simon stands up. He understands Kieren’s need to figure out the conflicting emotions that came with Rick’s return, but he has to admit that he wishes it would go faster. Having his boyfriend standing so close and not being allowed to touch him is grating at his nerves.

“I’ll go give Rick his shot while you get your things together for work,” Simon announces and steps past Kieren, heading to Rick’s room.

The rest of the morning is filled with uneasy silence that none of them have the words to break. Simon can see from the tension in Rick’s shoulders that he can sense something is off, but he doesn’t question it. Simon feels immense gratitude for Rick’s discretion. Kieren is already struggling enough without having both of them breathing down his neck.

Once they are all seated in the living room, Simon realizes that he has yet to bring up Rick’s request from the night before. It takes a few minutes of chewing on the inside of his lip while Rick struggles to tie his shoes for Simon to find the words to approach the topic.

“Rick, do you still want to visit your dad?” he asks in a steady, direct tone which shatters the silence.

“What are you talking about?” Kieren interjects before Rick can reply, glancing between the two of them.

“Simon told me about my dad last night,” Rick explains as he finishes the second misshapen bow on his shoelaces, unaware of the glare Kieren is now leveling at Simon. “I want to go visit his grave.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Kieren asks incredulously.

“It’d be... closure, I guess. I also sort of want to say goodbye,” Rick admits sheepishly. “I know he wasn’t great, but he was my dad and all.”

“He killed you!” Kieren all but shouts, motioning roughly toward Rick, as if to emphasize his point. “He _murdered_ you and tried to pretend it never happened!”

“Parents can do a lot of horrible things, Kieren,” Simon reminds him calmly. “They’re still our parents at the end of the day. It’s okay for Rick to want to say goodbye.”

“Yeah, well, have fun with that,” Kieren snaps and stands up, walking quickly toward the front door.

“Kieren, where are you going?” Simon calls after him, the waver in his voice betraying his concern.

“Work,” Kieren replies shortly, before wrenching the door open and slamming it behind him.

Simon sighs deeply and runs his hands over his face. He hadn’t expected Kieren to be overjoyed at the idea of visiting Bill’s grave, but the stress of this situation must be truly eating at him if he is that quick to storm out. The Kieren he is familiar with tends to stand his ground far longer before blowing up like that. When Simon looks up again, Rick is staring at him with his eyebrows drawn together.

“Is he alright?” Rick asks quietly, motioning toward the door.

“I don’t know,” Simon admits reluctantly, staring after Kieren.


	8. We're Alone Now

To Kieren’s surprise, as he arrives at the old cemetery, none of the volunteers run over to greet him with panicked questions. There are plenty of them wandering the cemetery carefully, in fact, it almost looks like they are over-staffed instead of struggling to fill all of the shifts. The leader for the current shift, a blond university drop-out named Elizabeth who can never seem to tame her wildly curly hair, smiles at him brightly as he approaches.

“Morning!” she calls cheerfully, waving with the hand that isn’t holding onto her clipboard of volunteer assignments.

“Morning,” Kieren returns amicably, forcing a smile onto his face. “What’s got you so happy?”

“Look,” she urges and holds her clipboard out to him. “I’ve got more than enough for all of the spots in this shift!”

Kieren takes it from her and scans over the pages quickly. Thanks to the shortage of daily volunteers in Roarton, the schedule on Elizabeth’s clipboard is usually scattered with empty spaces. There are never enough of them to patrol both the old cemetery and the new graveyard. Today, however, the entire schedule for the graveyard is crossed out and every spot on the cemetery’s schedule is filled.

“The last one buried in the new cemetery rose yesterday. Someone named Rick, I think,” Elizabeth explains as Kieren looks over the schedules. “There’s no reason to have people patrol over there if there’s no one left to rise, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies, allowing an honest smile to bloom across his face. “So you’ve got everyone you need now?”

“I even sent a few home today.”

“Need anything from me, then?” Kieren asks, handing the clipboard back to her. “I’ve got some things to take care of at home.”

“No, we’re all good here. Go ahead and do whatever you need to,” Elizabeth says and pats his arm.

Kieren thanks her and says a friendly farewell, but his mind is already miles away from the cemetery. When he said he had to take care of something at home, he didn’t mean the bungalow. The issues there are far too big for him to solve alone. Instead, he walks up the drive to his childhood home.

When he pushes the front door open, he sighs a breath of relief. His parents aren’t home to pester him, and neither of the men that occupy his every thought are either, waiting to ask him to do something as distasteful as visiting the grave of the man that murdered his best friend. Just as he hoped, there is only one other person in the house.

Jem glances behind her when her door creaks open and smiles at the sight of her brother. Gone are the days when she would flinch away from him or jump at his sudden appearance. Now, the two of them are like they were before, if not even closer.

“Hey there, little bro,” she greets him with a grin, shutting her laptop and spinning her chair around to face him.

“Hi, Jem,” Kieren says with a reluctant smile.

She always has a way of bringing out his best side. Even when his whole world is crashing down around him, being around his sister makes Kieren feel safe. That’s how family should be, he supposes, and it is how the pair of them are. Jem also happens to be great at giving him advice, which is why he takes a seat on her bed now.

“I knew you’d come to me for advice eventually,” Jem boasts with a smug grin as she, moves from her computer chair to sit on the bed next to him.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to do it while Mum and Dad were interviewing me about Rick coming back,” Kieren points out, but Jem is more perceptive than that.

“Something happened this morning,” she says, and it’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. “You’re freaking out more than you were last night.”

Kieren sighs deeply and flops back onto his sister’s bed, sprawling across the narrow surface and resting his hands on his stomach. Jem adjusts as well, leaning back against the headboard and waiting for her older-little brother to lay his heart out. _Just like the old times_. Once Kieren gets started, the words come out in a rush.

“Rick and Simon talked last night while I was here. For some reason that I just can’t understand, they decided to go to visit Rick’s dad’s grave and want me to go with them. They’re going to visit the grave of the man that murdered Rick! I mean, that’s just stupid!” Kieren shouts, throwing his hands up.

“Kier, think about it for a minute,” Jem points out gently when her brother pauses for breath. “You just admitted that you can’t understand why, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make any sense,” Kieren sighs, rubbing his hands over his eyes tiredly before resting them on his stomach again.

“Maybe it makes sense to them, though,” she suggests. “Didn’t you say that Simon’s dad kicked him out when he came home?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?” Kieren retorts defensively, angered by the fresh reminder..

“They both have a shitty dad, Kier. Maybe you don’t get it because our dad isn’t all that bad.”

Kieren sighs and glances over to Jem. He knows there’s truth in her words. “I want to understand, though,” he admits quietly.

Jem sighs and casts her eyes upward. How can she possibly explain this sort of thing to her brother? It is something that is nearly impossible to explain unless someone has hurt you so terribly that... _ah_.

“When Rick left for the army without saying goodbye, you told me that it felt like he ripped a hole in your chest,” Jem says softly, meeting her brother’s eyes once again. “Even after all of those months that he didn’t answer your letters, even after he hurt you so badly, his death still tore you apart. You still cared about him so much that you _killed yourself_.”

Kieren glances away from Jem at the mention of his death, but her meaning is dawning on him. Rick was so ashamed of their relationship that he refused to put a proper label on it. They called each other best friends for years because the word “boyfriend” was worse than any swear imaginable. Everything about their relationship ripped Kieren apart piece by piece, until he felt he had no other way out.

Yet, despite all of the pain, he never stopped loving Rick. Not for a minute.

“That’s not the only thing, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“No, it’s not,” Kieren admits quietly. “It’s just... I was with Rick ages before I even _met_ Simon. Now they’re both back and don’t have a clue what to do. Whenever I’m with Simon, I feel like I’m betraying Rick or something.”

“Do you still want Rick like... that?” Jem asks after a pause.

“Well... no,” Kieren frowns, “No I don’t think so, but how can I just say that?”

Sometimes Jem wonders if her brother has a brain at all. She delivers a rough, open-palmed smack to Kieren’s stomach, right next to where his hands are resting.

“Hey!” he protests, jerking away from her with an accusing glare.

“You’re such an idiot, Kieren!” she shouts incredulously. “Just sit down and talk with them instead of pushing them both away, you dunce!”

“It’s not that easy!” Kieren tries to insist, but Jem shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, dummy, it is,” she says firmly and gives him a shove so hard he rolls off the bed. “Now get up and go talk to your best friend and your boyfriend.”

The dirt in the new graveyard is damp, either from the dew or the light rain that came in the small hours of the morning. Rick hadn’t given it much thought, but Simon came prepared with an old, ratty blanket. They sit side by side on it, both silent as they stare at the white cross bearing Bill’s name.

When they first arrived, Simon had given Rick his privacy by wandering around at the opposite end of the graveyard and examining the other graves. Some were broken open from the second rising of their inhabitants, but most were living victims of the rising.

It only took about half an hour for Rick to run out of words for his deceased father. Once he began talking, everything came out in a rush. It was an indescribable relief to finally voice all of the things he wanted to say, but never could while his father was alive. Simon must have been watching more carefully than he seemed to be, because only a few minutes after his tirade ended, Rick felt the blanket shift and looked over to find Simon sitting next to him.

They haven’t spoken a word in at least an hour, but neither of them is in a rush to break the silence. The easy, quiet companionship is something that Rick hasn’t experienced until now. There is something incredibly comforting about having a friend who understands the importance of sitting by your side without the pressure of discussion.

Then there is the odd fact that he considers Simon a friend. Who would have thought that he would find himself becoming friends with Kieren’s new boyfriend? Sure, he was never properly with Kieren, but he thought there would be more jealousy than there is.

“He really loves you,” Rick says without thinking, breaking the bubble of silence.

“He loves you too,” Simon replies, glancing over to Rick.

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning to steal him away from you,” Rick reassures him with an honest smile. “The two of you are perfect for each other.”

Simon raises his eyebrows at the admission.

“Have you told Kieren any of this?” he asks.

“Well, no, but I didn’t think I really had to. I mean, we’re just friends,” Rick reminds Simon with a puzzled frown.

“Kieren won’t let me go anywhere near him right now,” Simon confides in response, glancing down to his hands and running his thumb along the edge of his nails. “He’s trying to figure out his relationship with you. That’s what’s got him so tense.”

Rick raises his eyebrows, shocked by the news. However... as unexpected as the news is, it makes sense. If he and Kieren aren’t on the same page, then of course Kieren would be worrying about how all of his relationships are going to fit together. Things had seemed so simple to Rick, especially with Simon in the picture, that he hadn’t even thought to talk to Kieren about it.

“I don’t think of him as more than a friend,” Rick admits. “I care about him. Love him, even. Just... I can’t even start to think about a relationship right now.”

“I think he’d appreciate hearing that,” Simon says and pats Rick’s shoulder. He pushes himself to his feet. “Why don’t we go home and see if he’s come back yet?”

“Good idea.”

Rick gathers the blanket and takes Simon’s outstretched hand to help pull himself to his feet. _Home_. He rolls the word around in his mind as he grins at his friend. He could get used to that.

When Simon and Rick push through the front door of the bungalow, Kieren is already curled up on the couch with his sketchbook resting on his lap. The page is scattered with angry scribbles and half-finished sketches, and he looks up when they enter. Kieren tightens his mouth into what could have been a smile, had he actually tried to forces the corners of his mouth to raise.

“Hey,” Simon says quietly, pushing his shoes off without unlacing them and leaving them by the door. He takes his place in the old rocking chair with his book of poetry, leaving Rick alone to make his decision about how to handle this situation with Kieren. There’s nothing wrong with Rick choosing to put the conversation off, no matter how anxious Simon might be to have everything mended.

Rick unlaces his shoes slower than anyone else in the history of the world, he is sure of it. Even with stiff fingers, the laces aren’t _that_ hard to untangle, but he needs the time. One bow is untied and he knows that has to tell Kieren immediately. The laces are loosened and he decides that he can probably keep it to himself for a while longer. Move on to the second shoe while trying to convince himself that now is the right time. Bow, laces, and loosen, all while trying to come up with valid reasons to avoid the conversation he feels is looming. Kieren could be upset. It isn’t necessary. Tomorrow is just as good a time as now.

By the time he sets both shoes together on the mat, he knows that he has to do.

“Kieren, can I talk with you for a moment?” Rick asks nervously, lowering himself onto the other end of the couch.

“Hm? Oh, sure,” Kieren replies, closing his sketchbook and setting it to the side. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something too. You go first, though.”

 _This shouldn’t be so hard,_ Rick thinks to himself. Simon offers no help from his chair, though he has set his book aside to listen more intently, but Rick’s not surprised. It isn’t his conversation to begin. Rick takes a deep breath to calm himself before he begins.

“Kieren, I remember how we were before all of this. The cave and all... I haven’t forgotten,” Rick says with a small, nostalgic smile that fades as quickly as it appeared. “Simon and I were talking earlier today and... I can’t do that now. You deserve to know that.”

“Rick,” Kieren tries to interrupt shakily, but Rick shakes his head and continues to talk.

“Things are different now. You have Simon and I have a lot to deal with before I can think about a relationship again. I still care about you and I’d love to be your best mate, if you’ll have me,” Rick says hopefully. “Don’t risk your relationship because of me though, alright? I just want to be mates again.”

“Wait, how do you know that Simon and I have been having a rough time?” Kieren asks, latching onto the one piece of information he knows how to react to.

“Um, well,” Rick begins haltingly, then looks over to Simon with a plea for help in his eyes.

“We were talking in the graveyard and the topic came up,” Simon explains, speaking for the first time since the conversation began.

“So you put him up to this?” Kieren asks incredulously, turning to look at Simon.

“No, that wasn’t...” Simon’s eyebrows draw together as he tries to figure out how to explain. Kieren doesn’t give him the chance to speak again.

“This is my life, Simon, you don’t get to control me like this!” Kieren snaps, standing up suddenly. “You can’t take away my choice before I make it!”

“That’s not what happened, Kieren,” Simon tries to insist, but Kieren just scoffs.

“Really? You told Rick that he was causing trouble between us. That’s pretty meddlesome, if you ask me,” Kieren grinds out through gritted teeth, then storms out of the living room.

As soon as Kieren turns to leave, Rick and Simon are on their feet. They call after him as he heads toward the bedrooms, but he doesn’t stop until they follow him down the hallway. Even then, he only pauses for long enough to face Simon.

“I’m done with this bullshit, Simon,” Kieren spits out venomously and whirls around, stomping into their room and slamming the door behind him.

Simon stares at the closed door with an empty pain in his eyes, as if he’s been expecting this for so long that he isn’t even surprised. When the metallic click of the lock being turned breaks the silence, Simon closes his eyes and sighs, resting his forehead against the doorframe for a minute. Slowly, he turns around and makes his way back to the living room.


	9. Show Me Where You Fit

“Simon?” Rick says, watching in complete confusion as the air settles around them. “Aren’t you going to go talk to him?”

“He won’t listen to me right now,” Simon says softly and folds his tall form into the chair, this time tucking his legs up as well.

Rick stares in exasperation as Simon sinks into a mournful silence. He has opened the poetry book once more, but his eyes aren’t scanning over the pages that he isn’t bothering to turn. _He’s like a helpless child_ , Rick thinks to himself with a quick glance toward the heavens, and walks back to the bedroom that Kieren and Simon share.

“Kieren, it’s Rick. Please let me in,” he says softly against the wood, knowing that Kieren will be able to hear him.

After a few long seconds, the lock on the door clicks. Rick figures that he won’t get much more than that as an invitation, so he pushes the door open slowly and peeks into the room. Some of Kieren’s clothes are scattered on the bed, along with a medicine case and one of Kieren’s old backpacks. Rick assumes he must have used it to bring clothes over at some point.

Once he’s inside, Rick closes the door behind him and steps toward the bed. Khaki pants, colored jeans, and those old pajama pants that Rick used to steal, back when they were both small enough to fit into them, are all piled messily together. A handful of boxers have been heaped next to them and Kieren is focused on folding his shirts.

“You’re moving out?” Rick asks, probing lightly to see how Kieren will react to him.

“I never actually moved in,” Kieren points out, but his tone is more tired than harsh, with a raw edge to it that suggests tears are on their way.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Kieren picks up the next shirt and looks it over, turning it over a few times before his fingers curl into fists in the fabric. His lip shakes before he speaks and Rick steps closer to him.

“I don’t know if this shirt is his or mine,” Kieren admits quietly and sinks down onto the bed.

Rick sits nexts to him and rests a hand on Kieren’s shoulder. There are no tears falling from his eyes, but Rick can feel the sobs shaking his friend’s body. He draws Kieren to him and Kieren sinks into his chest, crying quietly. It hits Rick then just how much inner turmoil Kieren has been dealing with. When Kieren’s sobs fade into silence and his shuddering body stills, Rick speaks.

“He only told me you were fighting after he knew my feelings toward you were only friendly,” he assures Kieren just above a whisper. “I know you love him and I can tell he loves you. Don’t give up because of this.”

Kieren nods and pulls away, flashing Rick a small, tired smile.

“I think I overreacted,” Kieren admits, drawing a chuckle out of Rick.

“Just a little. You’ve had a rough couple of days.”

They both stand and Kieren sets the shirt he’s still clutching on the bed with a sigh.

“I need to go apologize to him. He didn’t deserve that,” Kieren says, to himself just as much as to Rick.

Rick nods and open his arms, offering up another hug before Kieren goes to face the boyfriend he just blew up at. Kieren steps into the embrace and hugs Rick back properly this time.

A sigh, Rick would have expected. The startled gasp Kieren releases a couple of seconds in? Not so much.

“What is it?” he asks, concern at the edge of his voice.

“I can feel your shirt!” Kieren replies in awe, running his hands over Rick’s back. “I can feel again!”

When they part, Rick grins widely and motions for Kieren to go back into the living room. Kieren doesn’t hesitate to walk out this time, the pain he’d been sporting on his exit earlier now replaced with an expression of exhaustion and hope.

One thing that Rick always loved about Kieren was how dramatic he could be. When they were fourteen and his parents refused to let him dye his hair black, Kieren furiously declared that they were attempting to crush his creative spirit and did it on his own while they weren’t home. When he got his first real sketchbook, he messed up on a few drawings and burned the whole thing in his backyard. Even earlier that night, Kieren had slammed the bedroom door like a petulant teenager who was grounded from their phone.

Nothing has changed, it seems, because when Kieren steps up to Simon, the first thing he does is put a hand on the side of Simon’s face press a firm kiss to his lips. Simon doesn’t even have a chance to close his eyes before Kieren is pulling back.

“I’m so sorry, Simon,” Kieren says breathlessly. “I was being stupid.”

Simon stands slowly, but doesn’t push Kieren away as he does so. Instead, Simon wraps his long arms around Kieren and pulls him so they are pressed close together. Kieren wraps his arms around Simon’s waist and leans into the embrace. For the first time since Rick’s rising, Kieren feels like he is finally relaxed.

“It’s in the past now,” Simon assures him softly, and pulls back just far enough to press a kiss to Kieren’s head.

“There’s something else,” Kieren says, glancing over Simon’s shoulder at Rick. He has a grin on his face that is growing by the second, and he struggles to keep his face straight as he confides in a near-whisper: “I can _feel_.”

Simon reaction is immediate. His face lights up and his lips curve into a dazzling smile before he pulls Kieren against him again. Rick watches with a satisfied smile as the couple hugs and whispers to each other, but he doesn’t make a move to interrupt them. He can’t make out what they’re saying, at least not until Kieren gasps.

“Yes! Of course, yes!” he laughs, then looks over to Rick. “I’m moving in! Officially, fully moving in!”

“That’s amazing, Kieren,” Rick says excitedly, nodding his approval

“You can stay too,” Simon adds with a smile. “That room is yours for as long as you want it.”

Rick shakes his head, “I wouldn’t want to intrude. I can find somewhere else quickly, I’m sure.”

“This home is yours as much as it is ours,” Kieren insists, and he means it. 

Hesitantly, Rick nods. If they truly want them there, he won’t bother finding another place to go. Kieren’s grin brightens again and he turns to say something to Simon, but freezes halfway through the motion with a gasp and presses his right hand to his chest. Rick steps forward, eyebrows raised.

“Kieren?” Simon asks nervously, resting a hand on his boyfriend’s back. Kieren is silent for a solid, nerve-wracking minute, before he turns to look up at Simon with a dazed smile.

“I think…” Kieren begins quietly. “My heart is beating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading to the end! I would love to hear your thoughts on this fic in the comments, but even just knowing that you read it warms my soul. You are all wonderful and I hope you have an amazing day!
> 
> This may not seem like it was a journey for many of you, but I promise that it was a journey for me. Thank you so much to [Soph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WeMightAswellBeStrangers/pseuds/MapsWindsor), [Saganu](http://saganu.tumblr.com/), and the Big Bang admins for sticking with me! You can visit me on tumblr as [my ITF blog](http://kittleimp.tumblr.com>kittleimp</a>,%20or%20you%20can%20go%20right%20to%20<a%20href=).

**Author's Note:**

> The rest of the chapters will be posted within the next hour, as the final coding is finished. Thank you very much for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [Visit me on tumblr.](http://kittleimp.tumblr.com)


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